


Moment in the Sun

by Kweh



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Radiosnake, Romance, all thirty minutes of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kweh/pseuds/Kweh
Summary: Not even the damned can muster up the energy to claw and destroy all the time.
Relationships: Alastor/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 188





	Moment in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely [ckret2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2)'s fault. They dragged me into shipping this and I can't go back.

Despite all rules to the contrary, there are moments of peace in Hell. Not even the damned can muster up the energy to claw and destroy all the time. Turf wars only last so long before there’s a winner. Or so much damage done that there’s nothing worth fighting over. Bad weather ends eventually. Hell creatures decide to terrorize a different neighborhood. Days happen where one doesn’t feel quite so tense and aware of every other being around oneself. Some days there might be a sense of normalcy that twists its way through the streets and into buildings and, in the case of some, into the sun-warmed backyard of the Hazbin Hotel.

The trees around the building had decided to drop their leaves and wither into desiccated husks after a sticky heat wave, which had followed a cold snap. The weather had shortly settled into something dry and warm. It was a welcome relief for most, even if the tires on the cars were still melting.

As for the leaves, they had been scattered across the dirt and weeds in the back when Alastor looked out the kitchen window earlier in the morning. Angel and Vaggie had been arguing over who should cook. Things escalated when Alastor suggested they split the work. The light dusting of powdered sugar on his jacket had been worth the screaming.

Several hours later, the leaves had been swept up into a pile.

Alastor summoned his microphone stand and lazily twirled it in the air. The leaves near his feet stirred, and he cut off humming with a record scratch, waiting to see if something might slither out from beneath.

For several seconds, nothing happened except the soft static sound of Alastor’s eternal radio, then he stabbed the end of the stand into the pile.

There was a yelp, a flurry of movement and crinkling, and then a burst of motion and canned audience laughter as Sir Pentious reared up from the ground with a hiss.

“Who dares dissstur-- **OH**!”

He rocked back slightly from the height he had lifted himself to before dropping down completely, hood flared and fangs still half-exposed.

“Good afternoon, my serpentine fellow!” Alastor rocked on his heels. “I thought that might be you.”

“Is that why you sstabbed me?” Pentious demanded.

“Yes.”

Not having anything witty to say to that, and having decided Alastor wasn’t going to attack him again, the snake demon dived back into the leaves with a muttered half threat not to be disturbed unless one of his minions needed something.

“May I join you?”

Several eyes on the partially exposed section of Sir Pentious’ body blinked up at him, closed, and then his tail twisted to make a section of the pile cave in. A hand snaked out from low in the underbrush--Alastor wondered how Sir Pent had managed to twist himself that far down--and pointed vaguely in his direction.

“Put that thing away!” a muffled voice demanded.

The microphone stand snapped away with a flash of dark red light and took the Radio Demon with it. Alastor reappeared in the offered space with a crunch of leaves and a click of dials. The hand that had been pointing dropped to rest on the nearest body part it could find--one of Alastor’s ankle--and Sir Pentious’ warm, scaled lower body wrapped smoothly around him.

“Did you rake these leaves yourself, my dear?”

“Shhhh.”

Click. Click. _Click_.

Soft jazz played from nowhere and everywhere, and for a few moments, neither one said anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also available in [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9430938).


End file.
